2025-08-26 16:36:35Grey hated mirrors.
There was one directly across from him in the dark-paneled study, tall and antique, the kind that made every shadow behind you look like a figure waiting to strike. His reflection stared back at him, hollow-eyed and stiff, a man wearing the life of a stranger. He loosened the buttons on his cuffs and turned away from the glass. Across the room, flames flickered in the hearth, dancing around iron logs that hadn’t truly warmed this place in years. The fire was just for show. Like everything else in this house. He poured a glass of scotch. Didn’t drink it. The meeting with her—Lana—had been shorter than expected, but it had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. She was exactly like the girl in the painting. Not similar. Not close. Identical. Down to the scar at the edge of her left brow, just beneath the hairline. He hadn’t noticed it immediately. But now he couldn’t unsee it. And the name. Alana. He remembered whispering it, once. Before his name was ever Grey. Before he’d been shipped off to Europe with nothing but a new passport and a fabricated birth certificate. He stared into the fire, jaw tight. His adoptive parents—if he could even call them that—had been loyal to the Thompsons. Devoted, even. They followed the family’s orders like scripture. And the first rule had always been the same: Do not ask about your past. So he never did. Until now. He’d always suspected something was off. Always felt like a puzzle with one missing corner. And now, that corner was standing upstairs with his face and his eyes and a name neither of them had chosen. He took a breath and finally sipped the scotch. The arranged marriage had been sprung on him weeks ago, in a letter much like Lana’s. Cold. Precise. Final. The contract had existed long before his knowledge of it, inked into estate records by “guardians” he’d never met. And the reason for it? Vague. To preserve the legacy of the Thompson bloodline. To fulfill an agreement made long ago. To maintain the balance of assets and heirs. Grey had scoffed at it, of course. He didn’t need another name, another title, or another stranger in his life. But now? Now he wasn’t sure the marriage had been about business at all. Maybe it had never been about money or power or legacy. Maybe it had been a leash. A way to control them both. He pulled a file from the drawer beside the fireplace—thin, bound in leather, unmarked. Inside were only four pages, and none of them gave real answers. A single photograph of Lana taken weeks ago, grainy and distant, with the word “CONFIRMED” stamped underneath. Confirmed what? He flipped to the final page. It was a birth certificate, partially redacted. Father: Classified. Mother: Deceased. Name: Alana Rose Thompson. Twin Brother: [Redacted]. He stared at the black bar across his own name. Someone had tried to erase them both. Separate them. Bury their bloodline beneath a web of contracts and secrecy. But why? And why reunite them now? He turned the certificate over and noticed, for the first time, a hand-scribbled note in the corner. Faded. Nearly gone. “Only together will they remember.” The room felt colder. He dropped the paper and stood, pacing toward the bookshelf. His reflection caught in the mirror again—him, and something behind him that disappeared the moment he turned around. He checked the study doors. Still locked. Still alone. Then why did it feel like someone else was in the room? He pulled open another drawer—older records, letters from his adoptive father, ledgers detailing every “donation” made by the Thompsons to their handlers over the years. Every move Grey had made, every school, every country, every hospital visit—tracked. Curated. Lana’s file was thinner. She’d lived a fractured life. Orphanages. Shelters. Nothing stable. And yet—she’d survived. Like him. Someone had kept them alive… separately. Someone had pulled strings to keep them apart. He exhaled slowly, then looked back toward the fire. How long until she started remembering? Would the estate itself trigger something? The portraits? The wing she’d been placed in? Or would she fight it—fight him—until it was too late? A knock rattled the study door. Sharp. Purposeful. He froze. No one ever knocked at this hour. He crossed the room and cracked the door open. It wasn’t a servant. It was the butler. Expression unreadable. “What is it?” Grey asked, voice low. “Apologies, sir. But Miss Rey has requested to speak with you. Immediately.” Grey’s pulse ticked faster. “What happened?” “She says she saw something in her mirror, sir.” The butler’s mouth twitched—barely. Not fear. Not doubt. Something closer to recognition. Grey straightened. “She’s not safe alone in that room,” the butler added softly. “Not tonight.” Grey didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. He turned, grabbed the file from the desk, and followed the butler down the dark hall, his footsteps echoing against centuries-old stone. Because if she was starting to see what he feared… Then something buried was trying to rise again.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Chapter Nineteen : The House That Shouldn’t Breathe
The morning came with a sky the color of pewter. The air was heavy, not with rain, but with the strange kind of stillness that makes the world feel as though it’s holding its breath.Lana stood at the edge of the gravel drive, the estate behind her, a small travel satchel clutched in one hand. Grey was already at the motorcar, inspecting the straps that held their supplies. His movements were deliberate, his expression unreadable.“You’re sure we can’t wait another day?” she asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill.His glance was brief but decisive. “Every day we wait is another day someone else might find what we’re looking for.”She almost said, And another day I could pretend this wasn’t happening. But instead, she stepped into the passenger seat.The road to Willowmarch was long and uneven, flanked by thick woods that grew denser the farther they drove. The bare branches seemed to claw at the sky, and every now and then the shadow of a crow passed over the windshield.“H
Chapter Eighteen – Shadows in the Silver
The rain had stopped by evening, leaving the Thompson estate wrapped in a damp hush. The air smelled faintly of moss and wet stone, and the last of the storm clouds dragged themselves away across a bruised sky. In the library, firelight cast a low amber glow over the walls, where the leather-bound books stood in regimented silence.Lana sat on the edge of the chaise, her knees drawn slightly together, fingers curled around the delicate stem of a wineglass she’d barely touched. Across from her, Grey leaned against the mantel, the flames painting his profile in shifting light. Between them, resting on the low table, lay the locket.She hadn’t expected him to bring it out again. Since finding it that morning, he had kept it close, as though the small tarnished thing could burn him if left unattended.“It’s old,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Older than you, older than me… but it feels alive somehow.”Grey’s gaze didn’t leave the locket. “It was my mother’s. She never spoke much ab
Chapter Seventeen : Shadows Between Us
The rain had passed in the night, leaving the Thompson estate washed in a pale, reluctant dawn. Mist curled low over the lawns, clinging to the edges of the hedgerows like it feared to let go. Somewhere beyond the eastern wing, the river whispered faintly, its steady rhythm a contrast to the taut silence between them.Lana had been up before sunrise. She told herself it was the damp air that kept her from sleeping, but in truth, it was the weight of unspoken thoughts. The locket, and what it might mean, still pulsed at the edges of her mind — but she had resolved not to think about it. Not now. Not yet. She needed a day where the past didn’t have its claws in her.Grey was already in the breakfast room when she arrived, his posture sharp even in casual clothes. A silver coffee pot steamed on the table between them. He didn’t look up immediately; instead, he tapped the edge of his cup, the sound precise, deliberate.“You were awake early,” she said, settling opposite him.His gaze flic
Chapter Sixteen – Echoes in the Stillness
The first light of morning spilled through the heavy velvet curtains, a pale gold that softened the cold edges of the Thompson estate. Outside, the grounds were still slick with last night’s rain, the air sharp and clean, as though the storm had scoured away every trace of dust and sound.Lana stood by the tall window, her hands cupped around the porcelain warmth of her tea. She could still smell the faint trace of woodsmoke on her clothes from the cabin — that single, flickering fire they had kept through the long hours of thunder and wind. It was strange, how quickly the world could change. One night of isolation, of whispered words and careful silences, and now they were back inside walls lined with chandeliers and old oil paintings that seemed to watch her every move.She heard the faint creak of the door behind her and didn’t need to turn to know it was Grey. There was something distinct about his presence — not just the sound of his footsteps, but the way the air seemed to tight
Chapter Fifteen: Storms
The storm had only deepened through the night. Rain lashed against the warped cabin walls in relentless sheets, each gust of wind making the timbers groan. Inside, the air smelled faintly of damp wood and smoke from the struggling fire in the small stone hearth.Lana sat on the low bench beside it, rubbing her chilled hands together. Her damp skirt clung to her knees, the hem heavy from the downpour. Grey stood near the doorway, his shoulders filling the space as he looked out into the blackness beyond the warped frame. The light from the hearth cast his profile in bronze and shadow.“You’re shivering,” he said, his voice low but cutting through the storm.“I’m fine,” she lied, though her fingers trembled.He crossed the small room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and shrugged off his heavy coat. “You’ll wear this,” he said, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest. It was warm, smelling faintly of cedar and something darker—him. She swallowed hard, feeling th
Chapter Fourteen: The Letter
The name hit Grey like a blow to the ribs.His mother had been dead for over a decade. He’d stood over her casket, felt the cold finality of the moment. So either this was an elaborate game, or someone had just detonated the past in his face.The man didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him as if he already belonged in the room. His shoes didn’t even squeak on the marble — expensive leather, broken in. Everything about him spoke of precision.“I was told,” the man said, “to deliver this directly into your hands. And to tell you — you’d know the truth when you read it.”Grey took the envelope but didn’t open it. His eyes stayed locked on the man. “And who told you that?”“I already answered that.” The stranger’s gaze flicked briefly toward Lana. “I wasn’t informed you’d have company.”Lana didn’t move from the doorway, but the weight of his look pressed on her like a hand on the back of her neck.“Maybe you should tell us your name,” she said
You may also like
